The Unwanted

2.

Zachaeus von Hal

20.18.21.19.20.

"How do you propose to declare war when you lack knowledge of those who stand against you?" Dragon asked, his white hair disheveled, betraying the many times he had run his fingers through it in frustration.

"The more pressing question," Mathias interjected with a scoff, leaning against the wall, "is how he plans to locate the witches."

At this juncture, surrounded by my most trusted men in the dining hall a day after, I could scarcely shake the thought that their wisdom seemed as lacking as their manners were crude. The disarray of their thoughts and the cacophony of their voices only served to deepen my irritation.

I cast a pointed gaze upon them. "The last recorded sighting of witches was three years prior, in Temisbel Wood. They slaughtered the leader of a rival coven there." With a flick of my wrist, the relevant documents materialized before them. Dragon offered only a cursory glance at the papers, his attention quickly shifting, while Mathias seized them with eager hands, scrutinizing their contents with a contemplative hand resting upon his chin. "The covens rarely relocate, perhaps once a year. What serves us well is that we have the name of the clan that murdered the leader."

"The Solar Circle." Mathias said before I could, his gaze flickering with unspoken doubt.

"And where they are located."

"Hillslow Woods."

"Correct." I hummed.

"So you wish us to meet the same fate as that fallen leader, do you?" Dragon asked with an exasperated sigh.

The Solar Circle was one of the foremost among the triad of great families, their power stemming from a time-honored practice of intermarriage to preserve the sanctity of their bloodline. For over two millennia, they have immersed themselves in the most forbidden depths of dark magic. And that's exactly what we need.

"We require the power they possess." I replied, my gaze fixed upon a goblet of fresh blood, which I lifted from the table. "The price they exact is often souls—this is the most frequent demand recorded throughout the ages. They possess the power to summon nearly anything, yet souls remain their one elusive desire." Both of them arched a dubious brow, their eyes silently questioning the source of such souls. "I have my own resources." Was my only reply.

"So we go into Hillslow Woods to seek them out, and should we succeed, we implore them to conjure some inscrutable force to aid us in a conflict against unknown adversaries and then—what? We all live happily ever after?" Dragon asked, lifting his hands towards the heavens, a gesture both dramatic and childishly incredulous, as though grappling with the absurdity of our plight.

"We shall extract information from the common folk as well." I declared with a decisive nod. "This shift in the world can not arise from nothing," I swirled the remaining blood in my goblet, "the person behind this is evidently of immense power. Though I have certain suspects in mind, I am uncertain whether they would engage in such acts."

Fools—blind, insatiable fools—would go to any lengths to grasp at greater power, regardless of what they already possess. They are led astray by lust, driven by base desires, rather than the hand of wisdom.

"And we just act when they come at us or what exactly?" Dragon asked with a frown, his white hair falling to frame his pale face.

"Patience." I hissed, my voice laced with a sharp edge causing them both to stiffen and fall silent. "For now, let us see this witch hunt to its end." I got up from my chair, my cloak already draped over my arm.

"I'm far too young to meet my end at the hands of a witch." Dragon said, his voice edging towards a whine as he reluctantly took his own cloak. Mathias did the same.

"Aren't you nearly 470 years old?" Mathias raised a curious brow, his fingers idly toying with a silver pocket watch.

"Precisely." Dragon replied, tying back his white hair. "Far too young." He repeated.

In a matter of seconds we strode toward the door, sparing only a fleeting glance at Ttarmek, who bowed deeply, his voice a soft murmur as he wished us a safe journey. And without hesitation we stepped out into the night.

Snow was falling—thick, silent, and relentless.

In the middle of summer.

"This must be the curse for neglecting my greens as a child," Dragon muttered, his voice betraying the unease that had gripped him. I could hear the audible gulp he tried to suppress.

I lifted a hand, allowing a cascade of snowflakes to drift into my open palm. My thoughts spiraled into turmoil as Mathias began voicing his concerns. We resided in a land where the chill was a constant companion, yet snow was a rarity that came only in the winter months.

I closed my fist.

Darkness, weather, and the arcane—these were from my domain, yet the clumsy nature of this frost betrayed its origin. Such a sloppy, inept display was beneath me; if I were to orchestrate such an effect, it would be with far greater finesse.

"Come on now." I adjusted my glasses and straightened my coat. The forest was not far, and with a little running we could reach it by tomorrow night. "We're taking the route by foot."